


i will ache and choke as long as you remember me

by ssilverarrowss



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Codependency, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Self Destructive Behaviour, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssilverarrowss/pseuds/ssilverarrowss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nico remembers a time when he wanted to possess Lewis, taste him, breathe him, move with him. This feels different, washed out and drained and dull, like an obligation, carefully rehearsed movements that lack emotion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i will ache and choke as long as you remember me

**Author's Note:**

> One day, I will write something that isn’t angst. Today is not that day.  
> In which Nico is in love with Lewis, Lewis isn’t in love with Nico, and they break each other because that’s what they do. Title from IYES's "'Til Infinity."

In Belgium, it happens again.

Nico stares at the digits on the screen, motionless and unblinking, hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting crescent moons into the skin of his palms. It makes him feel sick, the small black 2. next to his name, a seemingly permanent fixture. He fights and he tries and he pushes, but no matter what, he’s always second to Lewis.

Nico can’t look into Lewis’s eyes afterwards. He never can. The hurt stings and burns, an ugly throbbing raw wound.

He congratulates Lewis when he sees him, hands brushing against each other, but it’s hollow and cold. Nico’s the first to pull away, not wanting to touch Lewis any more than necessary, hating the jolt of electricity that courses through his veins at the brush of Lewis’s fingers against his. Nico turns away with a sigh, unable to look at Lewis.

Romain provides a welcome distraction, and Nico embraces him, fingers curling around each other’s hands and Nico hopes to wash off the feel of Lewis’s skin on his. Nico’s lips press against Romain’s cheekbone, the French rolling off his tongue with ease, breath ghosting over Romain’s skin, and he shivers, and Nico hopes Lewis sees.

Nico hopes it hurts.

*

Nico can feel Lewis’s gaze lingering on him, fleeting glances on the podium, in the hotel lobby. It makes him feel cold, _small_.

Lewis finds his way to Nico, like every night. Nico wishes he’d stop.

He doesn’t say anything as he presses Lewis into the sheets, fingers splayed out on Lewis’s chest, teeth sinking into Lewis’s collarbone, biting like chocolate. Nico can feel Lewis grasping at his hair, breath hot against his tender skin. Lewis moans around Nico’s mouth, and it’s satisfying but empty.

Nico remembers a time when he wanted to possess Lewis, taste him, breathe him, move with him. This feels different, washed out and drained and dull, like an obligation, carefully rehearsed movements that lack emotion.

And every night Nico wonders why he does this, why he can’t walk away from it, from Lewis. Why they always find their way back to each other, as if they’re tethered, one unable to survive without the other. Except that’s not true, not really.

When Nico looks at Lewis, he sees a liar, a hypocrite. He feels like he doesn’t know Lewis anymore, thinks that maybe he never really has. It wasn’t always like this, but whatever came before this feels like a distant memory, an illusion, and sometimes Nico thinks _his_ Lewis was only a figment of his imagination, that he never really existed. All he has is _this_ now, a cold, ruthless stranger, a body that wraps itself around Nico, arms like vines, draining, suffocating, teeth gleaming as they close around his lip.

Lewis drags his fingertips around Nico’s body, and Nico lets him, tries to remember what it was like to love him. Or not love him. Nico isn’t sure anymore. But Nico latched on regardless, and Lewis let him, and Nico doesn’t know who he hates more.

Even after Lewis made it clear that there was no space for Nico in his life, that he was redundant and _unwanted_ , made him hurt and ache, Nico _let_ him, still _lets_ him, and really, he doesn’t know what that says about him.

Because there’s a certain thrill in that, feeling Lewis’s tongue moving against his, hot and wet, nails scratching down his back, bruises sucked onto his skin. Nico thinks that maybe there’s a curse between them, always together but never _together_ , because they’re not, not really.

Sometimes Nico pretends Lewis is doing this out of love, not habit. It’s so easy to imagine him whispering loving words in Nico’s ear, moving against him, _in_ him, slow and tender. But all they share is a lie, spitting hate in the pale daylight, heated but meaningless nights spent between the sheets. Their bodies press together, but Nico has never felt more lonely.

It’s not _love_.

It never really was.

Nico wonders what happened to them, because he doesn’t recognise Lewis anymore. The bones are the same, but the soul is not. He barely recognises _himself_ these days, broken and lost and so pale. There’s a bitterness between them, and they dig in each other’s wounds, hoping to hurt, to break. Nico hates what they’ve become.

Lewis presses his lips against the hollow of Nico’s throat, running his tongue along the soft skin, and Nico grasps Lewis’s shoulder, spine arching, and Nico hates this, hates the power Lewis has over him. It makes Nico shiver, it make him feel _vulnerable_.

Lovelessly, they rut against each other, sounds spilling from their mouths, strangled and desperate, filling the quiet of the space between them. Lewis’s lips are caught between Nico’s, warm hands roaming the expanse of Nico’s exposed body, fingers pressing against Nico’s hipbones, applying pressure. Lewis marks him out as his own, running his tongue over every bite, and Nico feels defenseless, his skin a canvas.

Lewis kisses Nico, lips swollen, moving slowly against his own, and Nico gets lost in it, feeling Lewis on his tongue, in his blood.

It’s not love, not even affection, but it’s close enough.

Nico’s fingers grip the white sheets, tethering himself as Lewis’s name spills from his lips without warning as he comes undone. His body shudders, glistening with sweat.

Lewis smiles as Nico breaks.

He always does.

*

“I don’t love you,” Nico will say to Lewis, later on.

And Lewis will nod and smirk, eyes bright and complacent because they like to tell each other lies.

It’s not true, Nico knows. He loves Lewis to the bones, always has, and it’s like a poison. But Nico likes to pretend, likes to build a heart made of armour even though he knows Lewis will shatter it effortlessly with one look, one word. It won’t take much: it never has, really.

“I don’t love you,” Lewis will say it back, and it will sting, because Nico will know it’s true. Because Lewis loves himself too much, and it’s filling up his heart, and there’s no space for Nico there, never has been.

Lewis is selfish, and Nico is addicted, and together, they break each other.

Nico will hurt, and Lewis will heal, because that’s how it _works_.

Lewis makes Nico colder. Nico wishes he could say he makes Lewis better, but he can’t, because he doesn’t. Lewis is a hurricane, ripping through Nico’s heart, destroying the last semblance of order and stability he holds onto, and then he’s gone, he’s gone and Nico aches. He tears and takes and breaks and bites until there’s nothing left and Nico is hollow. There’s torturous electricity between them, present and alive even now, after all the years, buried beneath the animosity and aggression.

Nico wishes he could make Lewis hurt, make him feel vulnerable, but he knows he can’t, because he’s the one who’s in love.

Nico loves Lewis, but he hates him, too, because it’s easier.

And Lewis toys with Nico, and Nico lets him, because that’s easier, too.

And they’re here, and they’re stuck, and it doesn’t stop, it never stops.

They wake up, they breathe, and they hate each other.

(It’s _easier_.)

 


End file.
